Voiceless
by SChavva24
Summary: Set after 2x04. Stiles saw this coming lightyears ago. Hanging out with his special brand of crazy friends was bound to have some negative side effects on him. Sterek. StilesxDerek


He really should have expected it. Like _really _should have expected it. It's not like he has super human abilities to heal himself and yes, Scott, that was pointed towards you. It's really unfair how the weak little human, who by the way was the one to save everyone's asses, gets the backend of everything. Stiles could appreciate a little thank you at least. But of course, the high and mighty werewolves have gigantic sticks up their asses preventing them from showing even a little humility. Hmph.

Treading in a pool for 2 hours trying to not let himself and the big bad Alpha who, by the way, weighs a _ton_, sink while a were-lizard thing stops you from swimming to safety is not something Stiles likes to consider a pastime. He's not built for that sort of thing. He doesn't have super strength. Honestly, he still can't believe that he kept himself and Derek afloat.

Anyway, back to the unfair part of the story. He really should have guessed that floating in an unheated pool for two hours would have side effects.

These aforementioned 'side effects' include but are not limited to a fever, clammy skin, an inability to sleep, lethargic-ness, and the worst ever, he can't speak. Stiles hated being sick. He got very moody and introspective when he got sick and he didn't need more introspection on the whole situation the town was in. It'd just give him another headache.

It started out with shakes and ended with Stiles on bed arrest. After a decidedly one sided argument with his father, cause you know, he can't _talk_, it was decided that until he got better, Stiles wasn't allowed to leave the house.

Which is totally _unfair._ Like totally not cool.

So Stiles was left alone in the house. All alone. Very alone.

While a were-lizard monster thingy is out killing people.

Good thinking, dad.

The hours slowly drifted as morning turned to afternoon. At one point, Stiles went downstairs to make himself something to eat only to give up when the danger of chopping his fingers off came close to fruition. He downed a glass of water and went back upstairs to his room. Opening the door, Stiles plodded over to his bed and fell down, face first.

"I don't think that's good for your face." Stiles most certainly _did not_ squeak and fall of his bed. No siree.

He turned around to see Derek, the asshole, leaning against the wall next to the open window. Glaring, he got up, walked over to the window and pointedly closed it. He turned back and headed to his bed, flopping down once more.

"What? No comment?"

Stiles responded eloquently with a poised middle finger. He heard a growl. After a few more minutes passed by, Stiles came to the realization that no, Derek wasn't going to leave him alone to his misery. So he climbed under the numerous blankets that his dad placed and made himself comfortable.

"Not talking. That's a first," Stiles didn't reply.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment?" Derek asked, incredulously. Stiles just rolled over again so he was facing Derek.

"Stiles…" Derek moved closer to him. The bed shifted as he sat on the side. "Are you okay?" he said, the words sounding harsh, as though Derek didn't spend a whole lot of his time asking people if they were okay. Which considering the whole werewolf thing, kind of makes sense.

Stiles didn't even try to answer, he was too tired and his head was pounding, like someone was tap dancing on his skull. And like honestly? Stiles tried to stop himself from thinking about the whole situation. Actually, it was pretty peculiar to see Derek around. After he went all gung-ho on the Alpha Express, Derek stopped coming to Stiles' house. And, like, that was totally fine with him. Stiles doesn't care about Derek. In fact, Derek can go hunt the were-lizard thing by himself now that he has super-Alpha magical powers and doesn't need Stiles' help. And Stiles was totally not hung up over it. Not at all.

Derek stilled for a second before leaning uncomfortably close to his face and started sniffing. Stiles didn't try to resist, because seriously, his life was that weird.

"You're sick."

The 'no duh' look was prominent on his face. Surprisingly, and this took Stiles aback for a second, Derek looked admonished. Second later it was gone and Stiles was left thinking that he'd imagined it.

"Can you talk?" Stiles shook his head then stilled, wincing, bringing a hand to his head. When he opened his eyes, Derek was gone. Ignoring the little twinge in his chest cavity which was most certainly not caused by the absence of his sourwolf-no wait, not his, the, Stiles meant the; Stiles tried to sleep.

He was woken up again by a warm hand shaking his shoulder.

"Stiles, hey Stiles. Wake-up," Stiles tried ignoring the annoying voice and tried to hunker down even more, trying to become one with his bed. The hand wandered up to his face, the thumb stroking his brow. "Stiles, I brought some stuff. Get up before I resort to dumping water over your face,"

At this, Stiles opened his eyes, glaring at Derek. His face twitched, and if Stiles didn't know better, would have said that Derek _smiled_ but of course, Stiles knew better and therefore knew that no, Derek was incapable of smiling. The guy had the emotional range of a teaspoon, if Stiles did say so himself, borrowing the esteemed Hermione Granger's words.

Derek patted his leg twice. While Stiles slowly got up, resting his back against his headboard, Derek held out a plastic container that looked like it had soup.

"My mom used to make this for me whenever I was sick. It was the only thing that I could keep down without throwing up. Thought you might want it," Derek shared while holding out the container and a spoon. Stiles slowly took it from Derek's hands, giving the container a dubious look.

"Hey, I made it. Suck it up and drink." At the 'I made it' Stiles gaze grew even more dubious giving off a 'if-this-soup-kills-me-my-dad-will-come-after-you-with-a-gun' look at which Derek replied with a 'shut-up-and-drink-Stiles' or a 'I'm-going-to-rip-out-your-throat-with-my-teeth'. Stiles is gonna have to go with a mix of both.

Opening the lid, he peered inside and grinned seeing that it was tomato soup. He took a deep breath trying to take in the delicious (fine, you win Mr. Hale) smell but started coughing, read: hacking up a lung. Derek moved so that his hand was running up and down his back, giving a little squeeze at the base of his neck. And no, Stiles did not lean into Derek at this point. He just…situated himself so that there was less strain on him.

Yeah, that's it.

Stiles grabbed a tissue from his bedside table and blew into it then balled it up and threw it to the side of his room. At this, Derek gave a disgusted grunt. Stiles turned to him and flicked his bicep.

Well, he meant to but his finger refused to listen to him and lingered on Derek's muscled bicep. He jerked away when he realized that his finger was still touching Derek.

Bad finger, refusing to listen to Stiles.

When he looked up, Derek was giving him the 'shut-up-Stiles' look, which ex-cuse him, he didn't even say anything. Derek rolled his eyes before moving back so that he was seated next to Stiles, mirroring his position.

"Where's your dad?"

Stiles gestured 'oh-here-and-there'

"Is he working?"

Stiles nodded. Lately, with all the murders, his dad has been working more and more hours at the station. Which was good for the whole safety of the town, but Stiles missed seeing his dad around. He took a few more spoonfuls of the soup before sneaking a glance at Derek. Who was looking-no, staring at him.

Stiles scrunched up his shoulders in the 'what?' pose. Derek rolled his eyes again. The hours passed as Stiles sipped his soup. Once he was done, Derek took the container got up and left his room, through the door. After a few moments, Stiles could hear the kitchen sink running, which, huh. He knew the container looked familiar; it was his, well property of the Stilinskis'. Imagining Derek wearing an apron, making soup in his kitchen brought a smile to his face.

The rest of the day was spent like this, i.e., doing absolutely nothing. And that was awesome, 'cause Stiles needed a break. One were-lizard thingy trying to murder him was more than enough. And, the events from _before_ still lingered. Suffice to say, Stiles still had nightmares from Peter Hale. He hadn't told anyone, cause Peter really didn't _do _anything to him. Well, he did kidnap him but compared to what he did to Lydia, Scott, and Derek, Stiles would rather keep this tidbit to himself. And he didn't want to seem whiney. Stiles could handle things by himself. He didn't need help.

Once Derek came back up, Stiles ordered him to bring his Mac to him. Well not ordered per-say. More like he made grabby hands until Derek got up with a sigh and brought his laptop to him. Stiles gave Derek a big ol' air kiss, eyebrow quirking when Derek's ears turned pink. Shuffling more in his bed, he brought up his knees, wrapping his hands around them while the laptop started. Derek claimed back his spot. Once the laptop was on, Stiles surfed through some not-so-legal sites until he was on a page filled with icons of movies. He turned his laptop to Derek, allowing him to choose. Derek gave him a look at the piracy sites before giving in and scrolling through the pages. Stiles thought that he was never going to choose and slouched down to get some shut eye before he heard Derek grunt. Opening his eyes, he saw that The Boondock Saints was loading. At the title, Stiles gave a grin at Derek. Surprisingly, the old sourwolf had a good movie sense.

At the middle of the movie, Stiles nodded off. Somehow, Stiles had curled around Derek, his head leaning on Derek's shoulder and his hand griping the cloth near his chest. Derek had his arm around Stiles, stroking his arm absentmindedly. Derek tensed when he heard a click of the front door opening, signaling the return of Sheriff Stilinski. He slowly unhooked Stiles from his side. He lifted Stiles up then put him down so that he was lying down on his bed.

Derek stood up, giving Stiles a curious gaze. This kid was weird. He hung out with werewolves, and still continued even after all the trouble it brought him, the fever being the most recent. It went against what Derek had first envisioned humans to act when they found out about them not being the only sentient beings in the world. And Derek has to give the kid credit. He's certainly saved his ass more than once, not to count Scott and the others. Aside from his unstoppable chatter, Stiles was actually very…pleasant to be around. Much more than Scott with his one-track mind that revolved around Allison.

When he heard steps on the staircase, Derek darted forward. Unreasonably flustered, he pressed his lips to Stiles' forehead. Pulling back, he muttered, "Get better Stiles. You're not you when you're sick and god knows why, but I actually miss your voice." He lingered there, smelling in the comfortable smell of Stiles before Sheriff Stilinski's voice calling out to his son startled him. Derek jerked back and jumped out the window, landing on the ground. He got up, and casting one last look to Stiles' window, ran into the forest.

When Sheriff Stilinski reached his son's room, he looked in to see Stiles burrowed under all the blankets. He walked over, running a hand through his son's barely there hair, leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple murmuring, "Get well soon. Love you, Stiles," before straightening out and leaving the room, closing the door with a click.


End file.
